Montana Sky: Dance Toward The Light (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 3)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Maks nudged his nose against Valerik’s thigh.

  Grateful for the solace, Valerik reached down and scratched under the dog’s furry chin. He wouldn’t let himself fall prey to dark thoughts. That behavior had proved a dangerous path in the past. Enough. He shoved away from the wall and gazed about, looking for a task to distract his thoughts. The metal bathing tub still sat in the middle of the kitchen.

  Yanking open the door, he breathed in the cool evening air and stepped outside. The trees behind the stable looked good for stringing a clothesline. Maybe tomorrow, he’d stake out the horses so they had the chance to move. Although, maybe like him, they’d be grateful to just rest for a few days.

  “Come, Maks.” He strode to the stable, watching his dog dash across the ground and back, tail wagging. Tying up a rope and hanging the clothes were the easy parts of the task. More difficult were the repeated trips needed to empty the dirty water down the grass-covered slope, away from where he planned to situate the horses. Once he’d leaned the tub against the stable to drain, he settled his hands on his hips and glanced around.

  Lights glowed from windows in the buildings and tents at the other end of town. Occasionally, the silhouette of a person moved across a lit square. Men walked into and out of the saloon…Rigsby’s, if he recalled right. A couple of them lingered on the porch, smoking. The glow of burning cigarettes appeared and disappeared like fireflies on a summer night. He inhaled, hoping for a whiff of that familiar scent, but the breeze moved in the other direction. To avoid the temptation a saloon held, he walked to the front of the building and glanced across the street toward the now-dark mercantile, past the biggest house in town, and up the hill where the gold mine must be located.

  Nicolai had made a brief mention in one of the telegrams that this place was a mining town. The buildings Valerik remembered seeing were present to provide support for the mine and its workers. He wondered what kind of sales Nicolai had in a town without a livery stable. Most of the miners must not own horses.

  An owl who-whooed from a distant tree, and one of the horses stamped a hoof.

  Maks flopped down and laid a paw across his master’s boot.

  As he tipped back his head and scanned the indigo sky for the first stars, Valerik thought of how simple and easy life here seemed. No slogging through hip-deep snow to check traps. No coaxing heat from sodden wood. No dreading to fall asleep, fearful he’d not wake with the next dawn.

  He huffed out a breath, wishing his mind didn’t go to such dark places. They’d survived, and now they needed to start a new life. “Ready for supper, Maks? Let’s go.” What’s a happier thought? Tonight, he would cook on a real stove for the first time in months. With luck, he’d find something in Nicolai’s pantry that expanded his choices past beans, biscuits, and bacon. Headed toward the stable, he let anticipation carry him along to complete the evening chores.

  Twenty minutes later, he dried his hands on a towel. With the horses secured for the night, he could focus on his own needs. Again, he marveled at the finer touches Nicolai had created in his living space. Well-sanded edges gave the pantry door a finished look. He surveyed the items on the shelves. Loose-weaved bags held onions, potatoes, turnips, and carrots. A stack of tinned meat rose six cans high. An earthen jug with cork stopper probably stored molasses. Jars with metal lids like he’d seen in an apothecary held dried greens, currants, gooseberries, herbs, mushrooms, rice, flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. A slip of paper with delicate handwriting has been tucked inside each to label the contents.

  More clues that Nicolai now had a wife. An achievement Valerik had hoped to have attained by the twenty-ninth year of his life. In Kamloops, his sweetheart, Victoria, had begged him not to make the final trip. But he’d wanted to stand before her father and ask for her hand in marriage knowing he could be proud of his healthy bank account. Little did he know that the woman he’d promised his heart to would turn tail and run at the first sign of hardship.

  He grabbed a tin of beef and one each of the vegetables then went in search of a chopping knife. Before long, he had a pot of thick soup bubbling and a loaf of peasant bread baking. Without the pickled cucumbers, this dish would not be as good as his favorite solyanka. Still, his mouth watered from the scent of cooking vegetables—a precious, and expensive, commodity in the Canadian wilds.

  The small icebox had been empty except for a wilted head of cabbage, a few wrinkled apples, a jar of purplish berry jam, and a hunk of dried cheese. Already, he saw the needed tasks for tomorrow. Locate fresh milk and eggs. Find his brother’s spring box.

  Words the blonde woman spoke came back to him. The vats. That could be where Nicolai kept his perishable food cold. Maybe he should have listened to what she had to say.

  A debate erupted in his mind. Twice he had his hand on the doorknob, and twice he’d turned back and paced to the middle of the kitchen. Based on the shock he’d seen in her expression, he might have been a bit abrupt in his dismissal. Being around people again would take some getting used to. He pulled the loaf of golden brown bread from the oven, set the pan on the stovetop, and waved a towel over its surface. Before he thought too much about the act, he used the towel to grasp both ends of the loaf and then tore it in half. The debate about carrying it on a plate or in the towel lasted only a few seconds, and then he was through the door and knocking on the adjacent one.

  The curtain rippled just before the door opened a few inches. The blonde stood in the slim space, her eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

  “Here.” He held out the cloth-wrapped loaf. “A peace offering. I may have been a mite rude earlier.”

  The space widened by several inches. “So, you can form full sentences.” She accepted the bundle then leaned close and sniffed. “That smells good. As does whatever else you’re cooking.” Again, she inhaled, and a smile crossed her mouth.

  “Only a vegetable soup with tinned meat.” He glanced from her raised eyebrows to the counter where three eggs and a triangle of cheese sat next to a skillet. Not much of a supper. “Would you care to join me, Miss Sullivan?” The invitation slipped out before he could stop himself. He stiffened. His thoughts went to the supervised courting visits he’d made to Victoria in the parlor of the commander’s house at Fort Kamloops. “I’ll understand if you decline because you think your reputation might be compromised.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “The day I signed on with my first vaudeville troupe, I besmirched my reputation. You would not believe the names decent folks call stage performers when they think we can’t hear.” She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze as she waggled the bread loaf. “If I accept, may I keep this?”

  “You may.” What have I done? Images of elaborate dinner parties held in his parents’ house passed through his head. Multiple courses of food and wine, crystal goblets, fine china and silver settings. “The food is simple.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Any food I haven’t cooked always tastes better.” She set the cloth-wrapped loaf on the counter. “May I bring anything?”

  The black-and-white dog edged forward to sniff his boots.

  He glanced at the animal but didn’t speak to it. “Nicolai’s larder lacked milk and butter.”

  She nodded. “Let me get my wrap, and I’ll be right over.”

  In a daze, Valerik returned to the other door and entered the kitchen. What had possessed him to invite the woman to share a meal?

  Maks greeted him with a wagging tail.

  “We are having a guest for supper. I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Those words reminded him of another task. From the pack on the floor, he set aside the leather case with the long, slender neck. Then he pulled out a chipped pottery bowl and ladled in a portion of the soup so it could cool for his dog’s meal. Aware she’d be arriving any moment, he searched the cupboards for the proper dishes and cutlery they’d need. If he could get everything on the table and the soup served, then he wouldn’t have to stumble around the kitchen in front of the pretty bl
onde.

  Maks shadowed his master’s quickened movements.

  The blasted dog kept crossing his path until Valerik finally ordered him out of the room and closed the door to the shop. Spying Maks’ dog dish, he limped to the counter to grab it then retraced his steps to set it inside the shop. From the sound of his dog’s eager slurps, the soup was edible.

  After carrying the soup pot to the middle of the table, Valerik slid into a chair facing the door and double-checked the settings of plates, bowls, mugs, spoons, and knives. At the last minute, he glanced at himself in the blade of his knife and spotted how wild and bristly his hair looked. Debating about going to the sink to get water to tame it, he heard a soft knock. Another decision made for him. “Come inside.”

  The door opened, and Dorrie poked in her head, her gaze taking in the set table. “Oh, you’re ready.” She stepped through the opening and shoved the door closed with a foot. Then she hurried to the table and set down a crock, a pitcher, and a jar with dried flowers.

  He recognized the purplish lupines from the upstairs bedroom. A touch he wouldn’t have wasted a second thought on.

  She sat, unbuttoning her cape and easing it from her shoulders to drape the chair back. “I have to tell you, Mr. Andrusha, I couldn’t resist looking at the bread you gave me. Don’t get me wrong. The smell is delicious…” She glanced down at her hands resting clasped at the table’s edge, her cheeks blushing pink. “But I’m afraid the flour you used has bugs.”

  Her careful and tactful manner of how to word her revelation was rather sweet. “Caraway seeds, not bugs.”

  “That’s good to find out.” Smiling, she sighed and unclasped her hands. “I don’t believe I’ve known men as accomplished in the kitchen as you and Nicolai. I swear he cooks better than me and Cinnia put together.”

  “Cinnia?” He lifted the ladle, filled the bowl from his plate, and passed it to her. Then he accepted the empty bowl she extended.

  “My friend who married Nicolai.”

  “Right.” Which made this Cinnia woman his new sister. Things kept changing.

  Dorrie released the metal bail from the crock’s lid and set aside the lid to reveal creamy butter. “So, you didn’t know your brother was married?” As she spoke, she spread a layer onto a slice of bread.

  How could he describe where he’d been? Certainly, he wasn’t about to explain the true nature of his situation. “Until recently, I wasn’t near a town to collect my mail.”

  “We had that experience, too, here in Morgan’s Crossing. El Davis—that’s the town’s freighter—was stuck in Sweetwater Springs for the duration of the blizzard. Which meant for a long while, letters and supplies weren’t getting through.” She put a spoonful of soup into her mouth and nodded. “Right tasty.”

  “It turned out well.” He relished the sweetness of the carrots offset by the tartness of the turnips. His first bite of butter in so long tempted him to close his eyes and enjoy the rich flavor. Later, he’d have to start a sourdough sponge so he could make leavened bread, instead of this baking powder loaf.

  As he ate, he listened to Dorrie chat about prairie flowers and visiting with the cook at the boarding house. Her voice was pleasant, and with the speed she talked, he didn’t think she expected an answer. Acclimating to society might not be as hard as he thought.

  After setting her spoon into her empty bowl, Dorrie leaned her forearms on the table. She flashed a smile. “Tell me what you think about this idea. I want to do something that will bring the community together after this harsh winter. I was talking to a friend this morning, and she mentioned how much she misses dancing.” Her voice droned on.

  At the word ‘dancing’, her words became nothing more than noise. That part of his life was gone forever. If his sweetheart quelled at the idea of being married to a cripple, he hated to think how a comely lass would feel about being partnered with a shambling hulk. He remembered several occasions of his mother teaching her three boys the basics steps so they would not be embarrassed in San Francisco society. Granted, the number of times Valerik had attended such an occasion had been few. But when he had danced and put those skills to good use, he knew he’d done Mama proud.

  “…hosting a dance.”

  Valerik was aware of a sudden silence, which must mean she’d asked a question. Frowning, he thought back to the last words he’d heard. Hosting a dance. His skin went clammy. “Uh, er.”

  Her eyebrows sank. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea? I thought everyone would agree about this community activity.” Biting her lower lip, she tilted her head. “Do you dance, Valerik?”

  Inside his boot, he flexed his stump of a left foot and shook his head. Tingles ran over the top of his foot. “I do not.”

  “Good. That makes you the perfect partner for conducting this experiment.” Dorrie jumped to her feet and reached for his hand. “I need to be sure of giving the right instructions. May I use you for practice?” She tugged.

  Unwillingly, Valerik staggered to a stand, bracing a hand on the table for balance. Surprise shot through him. The lady was stronger than her petite frame suggested. “Don’t.”

  “Oh, come on. Most people are shy at first, but they all loosen up.” She pulled again and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll hum to provide us with a rhythm to follow. You’ll step forward on your left, and I’ll move with—”

  “I can’t walk right.” His stomach roiled. “I can’t dance. I can’t ever be a trapper again.” Shrugging off her hold, he limped three steps toward the stove then turned and walked back until barely an inch separated their bodies. “See that?” Frustration burned in his chest and fueled his embarrassment. A scowl wrinkled his face. “I am a cripple.” He straightened to his full height, towering at least seven inches taller than her. “Now, leave me the heck alone.”

  Chapter Three

  The sight of Dorrie’s fast-blinking eyes kept him immobile long after the door clicked shut. Frustration tightened his hands into fists. He should have held onto his temper better. If only he had stopped her while they were still seated—when he was still in control. Thoughts filled with recriminations, Valerik dumped the dishes into the sink and leaned his hand on the edge. Why did her look of betrayal have any effect? He barely knew the woman and owed her nothing.

  Turning, he headed into the shop to grab his bearskin cape. He dug into the deepest recesses of the pack for his wallet then thought better of it. A town this small probably traded only in coins. Before he could change his mind, he gave Maks a stern order. “Guard.” Then he stomp-limped down the road to Rigsby’s Saloon. He pushed open the door and went inside the dim room lit by three lanterns hung from the ceiling.

  The place wasn’t much different than other saloons in other towns, right down to the multi-colored windows. Smells of dank earth, acrid smoke, and cheap whiskey assaulted his nose. Exactly what he needed. A glance around showed a dozen or so men and a couple of barmaids. Several players filled the chairs at a card game, and others occupied round tables scattered throughout the room.

  Not meeting anyone’s gaze, he crossed the floor in the fewest number of steps and took up a place at the far end of the shiny mahogany bar. Along the base of the wood ran a long brass rail that he used to rest his left boot. From this position, he could look into the great mirror on the back wall and see the entire room and its occupants. Slapping two Morgan silver dollars on the polished wood, he pushed them forward, displaying the top side with Miss Liberty’s face, and glanced toward the dark-haired man standing behind the bar, wiping a glass. “Bottle of whiskey. From the top shelf.”

  His preference was for vodka, but he usually found imported alcohol of that type only in larger cities. The first shot he swallowed burned the back of his throat, and he coughed. But by the third one, a soothing heat oozed outward from his gut. The tension he’d carried since roaring at the poor chatty blonde eased.

  Light footsteps approached, making a loose floorboard squeak.

  Without moving his hea
d, he glanced out of the corner of his eye.

  A brassy redhead sashayed from where she’d been watching a poker game. She leaned an elbow on the bar and let the other hand caress her hip. “Want some company, stranger?”

  “Het, uh, no.”

  “Buy a girl a drink?”

  He turned enough to look at the barmaid wearing a scooped-neck, shiny green dress that had seen better days. She was many years past girlhood, but he’d not say a word to ruin the female’s image of herself. Making a living in a tiny town like this must be tough. Glancing at the bartender, he pulled two fingers toward himself then pointed to his glass.

  A fresh glass smacked down on the plank. “Only one, Marla.”

  Amazing how well the hand signals he used for Maks also worked for humans.

  “Yeah, yeah, Rigsby. I know my job.” She flipped a length of hair over her almost-bare shoulder and wrapped her fingers around the short glass.

  Valerik tipped the bottle to rest the neck on the edge of her glass and watched as the amber liquid rose close to the top. When he stopped, he glanced up to catch the hungry look in the woman’s tired eyes.

  She gave him a faint smile before sipping a third of the liquor then huffing out a long breath. “Tell me something about yourself, stranger.”

  “Rather drink in solitude, ma’am.” He dug his hand into his pocket, grabbed a two-bit coin, and set it next to her drink.

  “I can take a hint. Another night, stranger.” Winking, she clinked the rim of her glass against his, tucked the silver coin into her cleavage, and then sauntered back to the gambling table.